


bird on a tether

by infiniteGem



Series: Iron Panther Drabbles [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Captain America: Civil War Trailer, Iron Panther, M/M, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, but gets a prince instead, probably
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-27
Updated: 2016-03-27
Packaged: 2018-05-29 08:15:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6366427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/infiniteGem/pseuds/infiniteGem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"There was no light, there was no light on his chest, he’s alone and dying and it’s what he deserves."</p><p> </p><p>Tony, under the stress of an approaching war, is left to spiral and drift. Until T'Challa appoints himself his anchor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	bird on a tether

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [bird on a tether 缚足之鸟](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6640435) by [asadeseki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/asadeseki/pseuds/asadeseki)



> Just my attempt to add to the pitiful pile of Iron Panther fics. More to come soon.
> 
> *Edit: now that the film is out, shall I edit the work to be compliant? Let me know what you think.

"They're coming for you," Tony sighs, looking at Natasha and tilting his head in a desperate attempt to make her understand that there was _nothing_ he could do - Ross made that clear, hands in his pockets and surrounding Tony with soldiers and looking pointedly at Tony's arm in the sling, "You sit tight Stark," his voice was low and final, aged by command, "We'll find them."

Natasha looked at him, eyes darting, searching, across his face, the sharp frown lines between her brows were two deep strikes against him, Tony could read the betrayal in her expression, and that alone was terrible enough. That Natasha had lost all composure, lost the steel strong control over her face, that he could see what she was thinking, where she misunderstood. It was too late, and Tony watched as he lost his grip on another one of his (team? They weren’t anymore. Friends? They wouldn't be anymore. Family? They would never know how he saw them.)

He practically blew them away like a dandelion.

Nat reared up and struck, "I'm not the one who should be watching their back," and there was such promise in her voice, Tony was left to watch after her and wonder if it was a threat, the possibility was enough of a punch to his chest to leave him feeling winded. Her beautiful hair whipped around her face, the red glinting in the light, hiding her expression, as she spun and ran from him. For a moment he was struck with the sight of her all those years ago as Natalie, hissing at him and leaving to be capable somewhere else

(better than the image of her lying motionless, facing him with eyes open, jaded and empty, looking right at him and dead _dead and it was all his fault and dear god maybe that’s what was, maybe that’s what this was, the end of the path-_ )

His heart clenched.

_Fuck_

He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t blink, the images of that void seared into his irises and he couldn’t look away. He would relive the Ten Rings over and over again if he could only forget the vision of - of _them_.

He could feel the high keen that left his throat and the way he slipped down the balustrade, the cold of the glass against his side and the striking pain of his arm, but _god_ his heart – his heart was going to _stop,_ it was going to fucking burst if it pounded any harder. His stomach was rushing upwards and his head felt so light, there was nothing tethering him. He wanted to call after Natasha but she was gone (she is gone, she will be gone), he was alone, and he couldn’t get enough air to form a word. He needed, he needed to check, he had to check the - his -

He clawed at his shirt, searching.

There was no light, there was no light on his chest, he’s alone and dying and it’s what he deserves.

“You had it removed. A year or so ago.” A deep rumble broke through the chaos around and inside him. “You no longer need the arc reactor, Anthony Edward Stark. Your heart is safe now. The shrapnel has been removed.”

He wanted to scream, it didn't feel safe, it hurt, it's in pain and he was going to die - but his chest was too tight and his words lost to the whirlwind of chaos sweeping through his mind.

There was a firm hand around his, it was warm, it was strong, it was everything he wasn’t and he needed it.

“Don’t think, Tony. Just listen to me,” The Voice ordered. The Voice was warm too, it was molten heat pouring along the edges of his sharp senses, softening their jagged edges. It called him Tony, not 'Stark'.

The Voice continued, informing matter-of-factly, and that should make it patronising, formal, but instead it’s soothing and Tony was drawn to it. “You are Tony Stark, you are the famous billionaire, genius, and philanthropist. You’re in Upstate New York, in the Avengers HQ. It is the afternoon. It is spring and I’m told this is the standard temperature here, and I can’t lie to you, we may as well be in the North Pole.” The Voice huffed a laugh, “But I am biased. I am accustomed to heat that permeates the air. So much that you can _smell it_ , you can _taste_ it. Can you imagine that, Tony? A heat that warms you to the bones, fills you with energy, you may as well be synthesising directly from the sun.”

He _could_. He could imagine it. A heat unlike the blistering one of the desert. This one was healing, this heat was like summers in Sicily, that rare flash of satisfaction, like the proud smile on Pepper’s lips, the melting taste of fresh donuts, the buzz of flying with Rhodey at his side laughing over the comms as they raced through the air. It was the easy banter between him and _them_. It was the feeling of fulfilment when Dum-E first whirred at him.

He _breathed_.

He blinked.

His vision was blurred and the wetness caught on his eyelashes didn’t help at all. He rubbed at his face, stuttering in breaths, hiccupping and feeling as if he’d run a marathon. Shit, he was a mess, he was a fucking state and he’d been caught.

By the Crown-god damned-Prince of Wakanda, T’Challa.

He needed to get away, he couldn’t be seen like this.

T’Challa’s hand squeezed his hand and his other hand was on Tony’s face and the touch wasn’t suffocating as it _should_ be, but Tony could only assume he needed it. It was a weight, an anchor, where before he felt like someone had filled him with Helium and left him to drift.

Tony tried to pull away, this was grating at his frayed nerves, the younger man was breathing obnoxiously loudly – seriously this man was meant to be royalty – and Tony, self-proclaimed genius, still couldn’t manage a word.

Then something unlocked inside him, his body unclenched and he was breathing, loud and slow and _oh_.

T’Challa smiled kindly and finally pulled his hands away.

Each deep breath blew a wind of clarity through his clouded mind, chasing his nightmares to the cliffs they had climbed over.

They sat in silence for a moment as Tony came back to himself. They were both on the floor, the glass had warmed up with their bodies and the corridor was thankfully empty, though Tony would have to make sure FRIDAY had the footage deleted. He peeked up at the prince’s face, it was blank – not like Natasha’s trained canvas which made reading her impossible – it was silent, patient, waiting for him to make his move.

“You forgot ‘Playboy’”, Tony pointed out, leaning his head onto the glass, exhaustion making itself known now that the attack was over. The prince shrugged, “Hardly the most noticeable trait of yours.” Tony stopped short and then let out a shocked bark of laughter, “You can’t be serious. It’s _the_ most noticeable thing. Back when I committed to Pepper, the whole world thought it was a scandal.”

T’Challa frowned, “A committed relationship is a bad thing?”

Tony held out his hand and nodded his head as he proved his point, “Like I said, ‘Playboy’”

T’Challa hummed, his gaze piercing deep as it ran over his face, “You use it as an expletive upon yourself. It’s hardly a negative connotation, it merely means that you,” and here the man’s mouth pulled up slyly, eyes darting everywhere else pointedly, “have _substantial_ experience.”

Tony sputtered. He must have heard wrong, he was just thrown through loops in his own head. This guy saw him leaking tears and snot and he… Did he just? “Are you _hitting_ on me?”

The sly grin turned into a full blown smile and it was, wow, it was nice. The young prince was handsome when he smiled, which was a natural phenomenon Tony hadn’t seen happen since he arrived, and he could only look on in disbelief. “I have followed your career, Mr. Stark, I read your papers when I studied in Oxford. You are,” T’Challa, the fucking Crown-fucking-Prince of Wakanda, gushed, “simply _brilliant_. You can’t expect me not to be somewhat starry-eyed.”

“Heart-eyes emoji,” Tony mumbled.

“What?”

“I said, ‘Ha, nice, astrology.’” He answered hurriedly, cringing inwardly (smooth, Playboy, so smooth,) he quickly threw his hand up to grip the railing and pull himself up, his whole body feeling like jello and wasn’t that helpful in pulling off his getaway plan:

Step 1. Get up. Tick.

Step 2. Take a step. Fuck.

“Allow me.”

Suddenly, the floor wasn’t where it was meant to be and Tony found himself cradled against a firm chest. Well, impromptu getaway plan was a failure. He cut his eyes at T’Challa who ignored him with a dignified smirk. “You know just because you’re a Prince, it doesn’t make your life a fairy tale. You can’t go sweeping people off their feet.”

“Is that what I did?”

“Don't play dumb, Prince _Charming_ ,” Tony snarked, and yes he was being petulant, but his body wasn’t working and as embarrassing as this was, he needed help. But he wasn’t going to admit that. Well, not out loud. His gaze was glued to the corridor, a glare ready to be directed anyone who dared to appear and say a word.

“Does that make you the princess in this situation?”

Tony considered for a beat, “Only if I get a crown.”

T’Challa didn’t stop walking, but the contemplative silence was reply enough.

"Your friend.” He spoke up again, when they were approaching Tony’s rooms, “She is strong in her beliefs."

The genius sighed, so T’Challa had seen how his attack began, "Believe me, she's strong in every way anyone can be, Lion King. But she's putting on a Red Shirt and I can't stop her." Tony paused, blinking up at the younger man who was watching him, riveted. "It's a reference from a TV show-"

"I understood the reference, Mr Stark."

 _("I understood that reference!")_  
  
Tony covered the way the air caught in his throat with a forced huff, “A Trekkie too? Maybe this _is_ a fairy tale.” They arrived at his door and T’Challa didn’t let go until he pulled back the covers of his bed, no matter how much Tony complained that he could do it, and settled him down under them. He knelt by his side, face sombre and serious, now that the danger was over and Tony could obviously talk about Natasha and had made a pop-culture reference.

“She doesn’t need you to stop her,” he began, “what she needs is you to stick to your ideals. I must make this clear, Tony Stark.” T’Challa stood, and suddenly, there was the regal man who would be king, the command in his voice natural, unlike the corrupt drawl of Ross’ as he stared Tony down and made sure he knew he could do shit, no, T’Challa’s was a tone that sparked a flame and sent strength to his spine. “You are not _wrong_. You are not the _cause_ of this. You are not at _fault_. Do not lose yourself to criticism, theirs or yours. What you are doing is _necessary_.”

There was a magnetism to how T’Challa seemed to regard him, as if he was able to read him like lines in a book, decode and understand him. A recognition in his expression, this man wasn’t intimidated, annoyed, he wasn’t flattering him, he was just _aware_ of him and Tony was unsettled by how _good_ that felt.

Being acknowledged.

But, “But she left. She didn’t even listen, she left.”

“And that is her choice. What we are living right now is an event that will decide the fate of people everywhere.” He paused abruptly, and Tony could see how he hesitated, watching Tony carefully to see if he would be triggered. But this wasn’t his first Revolutionary Rodeo, and it probably wouldn’t be his last. T’Challa continued, “You must stand strong in your convictions, or you will be knocked over by the wave of change.”

Tony looked away, his eye catching the Starkpad that lay on the pillow next to him and he reached for it. Taking it as his cue to leave, T’Challa had turned around and was almost through the door, the second person today to do so, when some impulsive part of Tony couldn’t hold back:

“And what about you?”

He winced but he needed clarification, he needed to _know_ , he needed to not be alone, even with this charming new stranger who stepped in when there was no one else.

T’Challa turned, “I will be wherever you need me. _How_ ever” the prince stressed, “you need me.”

And he left, the promise in his voice lingering in the air and Tony was again, left to watch after someone and wonder, the possibilities enough to leave him winded.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Find me here if you wanna talk
> 
> @infinityygem  
> 


End file.
